Kor
by Alexandra Spar
Summary: A fugitive priestess with a stolen jewel must try and evade the pursuit of the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy: Boba Fett.
1. Default Chapter

_I know I may be running to my own death, yet I cannot in good conscience remain and aid in the deaths of others. There are some darknesses not to be borne, and some roads that are unspeakable. _

_I have taken the jewel, and if I must die for it, then die I shall; but it will not light the galaxy on fire with missionary zeal. I cannot allow the Khi brotherhood to hold it hostage. _

_Signed this year, daymonth 4, Standard Time Reckoning 8.30_

_Nekare of Dava, Consort of High Priest Breyn Al'aharev_

            I put down the scribe and tablet, and arranged them neatly on the desk where I was sure somebody would find them. There was a kind of release in finishing the note, short as it had been: a feeling that now the die was cast in earnest, and I could no longer go back or change my mind. I had done the thing, and now I would have to fly. 

            It had all been different in the beginning, of course. There had been no talk of galactic theocracy; Khi was still a nascent religion when I had joined Breyn on his quest to enlighten the unenlightened. Together we had worked to bring food to the hungry, weapons to the defenceless, clothes to the naked. The weapons perhaps were not such a good idea in hindsight, but at the time we were sure we were doing the right thing. 

            Everything changed when Khi took over the planet Dava, and instead of being a priest, Breyn had become something like an Emperor. It made him foolish and greedy, where perhaps a greater man would have ruled wisely; he decided that he would be sung of in history for bringing the Khi faith to the entire galaxy, and to hells with anyone who disagreed. I watched as he descended further and further into megalomania, but when the Janus amulet fell into his grasp, he went beyond my aid. Breyn had never been particularly good at listening, but now he didn't even try; he knew exactly what to use the Amulet for, and no one was going to tell him any different. The Amulet had been lost for centuries, but the records of its crystalline structure and powers had been passed down through the years; it was a legend when I first heard of it, and even now—in my hand, warm with my own warmth—it felt too powerful to be touched by living hands. 

            I stood still by the desk, turning it over and over in my palm: two great blue-stone cabochons set back to back in a ring of bright silver, clear except where the light hit them just right and struck flares of deep indigo from their depths. It looked like a small gemstone planet circled with a silver band, hanging from a chain as fine as a hair. A funny thing to have ruined so many lives, and to now almost end so many more…

            I shook myself and hung the Amulet around my neck, tucking the stones down under the collar of my flight suit, and hurried out. The suit fit perfectly, blast-armor plates notwithstanding: I had ordered it almost a year ago, using a credit account Breyn didn't know I still had, back when all of his plans became clear to me, and I knew I would have to leave. The ship itself had been ordered shortly thereafter, a modified Z-95 Headhunter, stripped down to the basics and fitted for long-haul single occupancy with a complicated autopilot and a tiny bay for supplies. I could fly it in my sleep, which I hoped would never become necessary. That was another thing Breyn did not know about me, and had never bothered to find out: I had been trained to fly starfighters, many years ago, back on the nothing world of Cordea's Hope, before ever I came to the administrative planet Amaranth and encountered Breyn for the first time. 

            I made my way out of the Temple complex, looking like any other offworld messenger with a schedule to follow, and managed not to slip into the ritual bow of a priestess when two Third-Level adepts passed me by. The helmet helped, of course; inside the helmet, I was utterly anonymous and not particularly interesting. I kept my pace steady and unconcerned until I reached the lower-level bays where incoming craft were docked, and there I came face to face with Breyn. 

            Looking back on it I really don't know what I saw in him; I suppose I was trying to get the hells off Cordea's Hope and find a new life somewhere exciting, and when I met him on Amaranth I was still young enough to believe what he told me. I think maybe back then he even believed it himself.  He is tall, running to fat now, with the pasty skin and sagging muscle tone of one who is rich enough to avoid labor but too lazy to undergo the myostim treatments that hone and polish the body; his skull is white, clean-shaven as befits a High Priest of Khi, tattooed with the blue spirals of his rank; his eyes are an interesting shade of green I haven't seen often, and I can't deny their beauty. Here, outside of the inner sanctum, he wore the long ceremonial violet cloak of the High Priest, spattered with blue stones sewn in spirals. He looked hot and impatient and slightly as if he had a headache. I felt the roots of my hair stiffen, trying to stand up, even though it was tied and pinned ruthlessly under the helmet. 

            I gave him the salute everyone gave his rank, making myself do it slightly wrong, as an offworlder might. He acknowledged it with a hurried nod, and swept past me; I was just beginning to breathe again when he turned and stared over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, as if he could see through the duraflex flight-suit and the blast armor I wore over it, as if the Janus amulet was hanging in plain sight around my neck. My heart flickered in my chest, banging against my ribs. I was sure he could hear it. 

            "You. Messenger. Come here," he ordered me. I swallowed and obeyed, absolutely sure he could see through the black visor of my helmet to my guilty face beneath. He put his hands in the small of his back and stretched, as if weary. "Messenger, go up to the Consort's quarters and let her women know that I will be unable to join her for the banquet tonight. Something has come up."

            The relief was overwhelming; my knees threatened to buckle. I saluted him again and hurried off in the direction he had indicated, stopping only when I rounded the corner and was out of his sight. My disguise, such as it was, could fool people; I felt strangely vindicated, as if the encounter had been further proof that I was doing the right thing. 

            I gave Breyn ten minutes, and then slipped back into the docking bays, hurrying for my ship. Two days ago I had given the order for the Z-95 to be brought out of storage and parked at the Temple complex in one of the offworld bays, and I was glad to see that the ID code marked on the curving hull had been changed as I requested. It was, then, no longer registered to Nekare of Dava: the ID profile should now tell anyone who accessed it that the ship belonged to Audax Vinca of the planet Sestun, halfway across the galaxy, and had never been modified at all. 

            I tapped in the access code—another way to make sure it was difficult to trace; instead of using a retinal or thumbprint scan, which could belong to only one individual, I used a code which anyone could have found out, if they'd had several years' worth of experience in cryptography. The Z-95 let me in with a soft hiss of machinery, and I slipped into the pilot's chair with considerable relief. 

            Lifting off from Dava is never fun, especially with the winter storms at their peak; clouds had been building all day, and I guided the Headhunter up through them blind, buffeted about by the turbulence. Slowly the ride got smoother as I brought my ship up through the atmosphere and the air thinned; then we were through, and the black void of space replaced the churning pink of a Davan winter. There were still the magnetic belts to pass through before I found myself in open space—an additional hazard that strangers to Dava found themselves faced with on their way down. Some people couldn't cross the belts at all. They caused violent nausea and disorientation in about twelve percent of sentient species, and all ships crossing the belts had to protect their electronics—and whatever sensitive cargo they might be carrying—with shielding material. My Z-95 was fully equipped to pass through the belts, though. That had been one of the first modifications I had indicated when I ordered the ship. I knew I was going to need it.

            Out beyond the belts, in free space, I set the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace and let the Headhunter bear me, and my stolen property, away.


	2. 2

DISCLAIMER: STAR WARS, BOBA FETT AND ALL RELATED INDICIA BELONG TO GEORGE LUCAS, MORE'S THE PITY.

            The man called Boba Fett was engaged in scrubbing down the holding cells in his cargo bay when the new bounty registered on his ship's computer. Fett could have let his service droid clean up the mess left by the cell's last occupants, but he had found that not only did the droid never quite manage to eradicate the sour stench of fear-sweat from the cells, but there was also a strange kind of satisfaction in doing the job himself. Self-sufficiency was one of the iron tenets of Fett's life. It set him apart from the rest of his colleagues, who were continually squabbling among one another, switching off partners, relying on others to get the job done. Fett had only himself. He was all he needed.

            The antiseptic solution dried quickly, restoring the cells to their normal durasteel shine, and Fett dumped the contents of the bucket into the waste disposal before heading back up to the cockpit. _Slave 1 was hanging in a high orbit above the moon Logath; the main cockpit viewport showed the vast grey-green curve of the moon stretching away into the distance, the tiny glint of artificial domed cities occasionally reflecting the primary's greenish rays. He had dropped off his prey at the Logath spaceport, been paid—twenty thousand, not much, but it had been a very easy hunt--and promptly lifted off again, to cleanse his ship and his mind in the comforting blackness of space._

            The red light on his command console indicated he had a new message. _Slave 1 had already relayed the information through Fett's suit com; a similar red light was blinking in his helmet's heads-up display. He sat down in the pilot's chair and summoned up the message._

_ALERT ALERT ALERT ALL BOUNTY HUNTERS AS OF 6:43:20 GALACTIC STANDARD TIME A REWARD OF 500000 CREDITS HAS BEEN SET FOR LIVE AND UNHARMED RETURN TO THE DAVAN CITADEL OF THE PRIESTESS NEKARE OF DAVA _

_THIS INDIVIDUAL IS BELIEVED TO HAVE STOLEN A VALUABLE DAVAN TREASURE_

_BOUNTY REWARD SET BY INTERSTELLAR BROTHERHOOD OF KHI CONTACT BREYN AL'AHAREV HIGHPRIEST_

_NO DISINTEGRATIONS_

_MESSAGE ENDS_

            Fett steepled his fingers and looked out at the distant curve of Logath. Half a million credits would buy him a complete refit of _Slave 1, weapons systems, lifeplant, sublight thrusters, hyperdrive. He could certainly use a new inertial damper system._

            Yet, while the bounty was worth his while to collect, the people who'd set it were not among Fett's personal favourites. Ecclesiastical officials were even worse at paying up than Hutts were, and Hutts were notoriously unwilling to let go of credits. High priests were almost always rich—most of the galaxy's religions involved heavy tithing—and certainly not humble. Fett wondered if Breyn Al'aharev was good for the half-million he'd offered. Too often he'd brought in his captured merchandise, handed it over, and had to menace his own client in order to squeeze any credits out of the deal. Generally, they paid up once he had demonstrated that he was quite willing to return the merchandise to its original location, and take the damages and depreciation out in blaster bolts. Once creatures had been threatened by Fett, they didn't need another lesson in good economic practice. Still, Fett wasn't overjoyed at the prospect of having to convince a client to pay him what was owed.  It was tiresome.

            And there was the interesting question of the treasure. What, exactly, had this Nekare of Dava stolen, and why? 

            Fett queried his computer. The Davan religion of Khi was only recently established, nascent compared to some of the larger worlds' belief systems, but it had secured a strong and economically powerful hold over Dava and its satellites, and missionary effort had managed to spread Khi over about half the worlds in the Davan sector of the galaxy. The religion itself was appealingly simple: it postulated that there was a controlling entity behind everything in the galaxy, that this entity was ultimately benevolent but also ultimately strict, and that only by surrendering one's life, soul and most of one's worldly goods to the priests of Khi could one hope to gain Khi's approval. _Typical, thought Fett. _Using creatures' own minds to imprison them. To stamp out independent thought and self-motivated action. __

            He searched again, cross-referencing mentions of treasure with Khi and Dava, and came up with a list of possible objects which were small enough to be carried without detection. Most of them were listed as being secure in private galleries or collections: the Star Tear and the Qurine Jade were both part of the crown jewels of the defunct Davan royal family, and the Janovis Talisman, made by a long-dead Davan master, was somewhere halfway across the galaxy on the bosom of a crimelord's mistress. 

            And that left the Janus amulet. 

            Fett leaned back, considering. The Janus amulet wasn't particularly large or astonishingly beautiful; from what he could remember, it had been designed and created by the famous Warvan artist/architect Luchinas about a hundred years ago and was primarily valued for its unique refractive properties. The two stones set back-to-back, forming a sphere, concentrated and tuned light rays in a way that didn't seem to adhere to normal physics at all; light shone through the amulet was intensified by a factor of roughly one hundred. It was a curiosity, not a treasure.

            Then why, wondered Boba Fett, did a high-up official of a burgeoning religion throw away her career, her faith and quite possibly her life for it?

            He coughed, changing tactics, and told the computer to bring up all the information it could find on Nekare of Dava. After a moment's cogitation, the screen showed him a picture of a young woman, perhaps mid-twenties, with white hair and yellow eyes.  Her face was interesting, all sharp angles and steep curves; blue spirals had been tattooed at the outer corners of her eyes, which gave her a vaguely sultry look despite the lack of cosmetics or facial adornment. The image was several years old, and Fett knew better than most how easy it was to change appearances, but Nekare's bones would give her away. He would recognize her face now, no matter what disguise she wore.

            According to the Who's Who list the computer had called up, she had been born on the outpost planet of Cordea's Hope twenty-six GS years ago, trained as a pilot with the Imperial troops stationed there, encountered Breyn Al'aharev on the central administrative world of Amaranth, and left the Imperial fighter squad to follow her new faith. Fett raised an eyebrow at that; normally, once an Imperial, always an Imperial, but perhaps the Emperor had considered the nascent religion of Khi an asset to his power, and allowed her to go in peace. 

            She was listed as having been Class A certified as a pilot—instructor level—in the old TIEs allotted to Cordea's Hope, which meant to Fett that she could fly her way out of a docking bay without leaving too many scrapes on the walls, but she had also apparently trained on captured X-wings and a couple of other single-man starfighters with more capability than the TIE. She had gold stars across the board for marksmanship and weapons expertise. _Very nice, thought Fett with a wry smile. He himself had trained with the stormtroopers, years and years ago, and he could remember being frustrated at the lack of challenge offered him. He wondered if Nekare had felt the same. By Imperial standards, she was very highly qualified._

            By Fett's standards, she was very valuable merchandise. He didn't much care why she'd stolen the amulet. 

            He lit the sublight drive and brought _Slave 1_ out of Logath's orbit before setting the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace. The hunt was on again, and Boba Fett was ready.


	3. 3

DISCLAIMER: see chapter 2.

            I made the jump out of hyperspace ten hours after leaving Dava, and was relieved to see that, while a bounty on me had been posted, no other information besides my birthplace was available to the myriads of hunters who would no doubt be on my tail.

            I sat back in the pilot's chair and considered. I was in the Suvirac system, halfway across the galaxy, a haven for criminals and entrepreneurial businesscreatures of all kinds. Questions were rarely asked on Suvirac, unless they were along the lines of "how much?"

            My Z-95 wouldn't look out of place there, either. Many of the creatures who used Suvirac as a waystation on hunts or smuggling runs or legitimate business ventures flew ships like mine, single-occupancy fast craft designed to elude detection and pursuit. I knew the ID profile override would buy me a little time, but if anyone got close enough to my ship to detect serial numbers, my name would inevitably come up.

            I drew in close to Suvirac and requested clearance to land at the Nar Hedron spaceport. The planet was almost barren, alternately baked by a red sun and frozen by the void of space; what atmosphere there was had mostly bled away in the centuries since its colonization, but enough remained to support life on the surface. The sky was black, lit with stars, as I eased the Z-95 down through the thin atmosphere and came to rest on a cracked landing pad within the force-ring of Nar Hedron. 

            Before I left the ship I had a look at the current bounty registrations. I was high on the list, of course; Breyn had apparently put up five hundred thousand credits for my return, and I noticed he'd stipulated that I was to be alive and unharmed. I was touched. His concern was entirely for the amulet, of course. Were I to be disintegrated, it might die with me, and he couldn't have that. The bounty had been posted shortly after they discovered me missing. I wondered who was hunting me. 

            Under the helmet my hair was heavy and thick, tied and pinned into knots to keep it from escaping. It was also white. Far too noticeable. I slipped a crysteel knife out of a boot sheath, taking off the helmet, and hacked it off. A pity. I'd been growing it for five or six years, and it reached almost all the way to my knees.

            The waste disposal took care of the heavy braid, leaving only the faint stink of burning hair, and I put the helmet back on and left the ship.

            Inside the Nar Hedron spaceport I found what I was looking for. Offworlders from all reaches of the galaxy came through Nar Hedron; boutiques catering to multiple tastes had sprung up in the spaceport and in the city it served, selling everything from Twi'lek headtail adornments to Shar erotic holovids. Bars spilled their noise and revelry into the streets; pimps of every species lounged in doorways with their merchandise on gilded leashes, undulating their bodies at the passersby. I was more interested in the equipment shops, where for a few credits one could buy thoroughly illegal Blastech rifles and handfuls of thermal detonators capable of destroying half the city, as well as high-tech armor and protection systems. However, I had one other stop to make first.

            In the back alleys of Nar Hedron, horrible little flophouses abounded. Those who were intending to stay longer than a few days generally secured higher-class housing, but I hoped to get off-planet by morning. For a couple of credits I found myself in a tiny cubicle just large enough for a bed, windowless and earth-walled, and I spent a few minutes checking the room for bugs before sitting down on the bed, taking off my helmet, and pulling out the amulet.

            In the dim light it seemed to glow, casting soft shadows on the floor and walls. There was something soothing about holding it in my hand, as if it was giving off waves of comfort and relaxation as well as light. Despite my weariness I began to feel a little more hopeful; I had made it this far, after all, and I might have a chance to deliver the amulet to someone who might use it for less destructive purposes than Breyn had had in mind. I closed my eyes, remembering his words. 

            _"…the specialized focal powers of the jewel will transform our lowest-powered laser beam into a force capable of destroying small planetoids; finally the Arm of Khi will be equipped for its true calling, bringing the word of Khi to the unsaved, lighting the darkness, freeing the chained. With this amulet we shall build a superlaser more powerful than any existing weapon. We will bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy through this, the Eye of Khi."_

_            "By destroying?" _ He had looked at me as if I had grown another head.

            _"By preventing the destruction caused by petty wars and discord. The Eye of Khi will render all weaponry obsolete. There will be no more war once the Eye has opened."_

I had stared at him. The Arm of Khi, the warrior monks who escorted missionaries into new territory, was well known for its ruthless nature. Equipped with a superlaser stronger than the Empire's Death Star weaponry, the Arm would be unstoppable. No one would stand against Khi. No one could survive.

            He had turned to me with brilliant eyes, afire with the conviction that he was right and justified and merciful, and it was all I could do to keep a vague adoring expression on my face as I asked him how long it would take to build his Eye of Khi.

            _"The Eye should be fully operational within seven daymonths," he had told me, grinning like a child with a new toy. __"We will test it on the moon Tathori."_

_            "The inhabitants of Tathori will be evacuated?"_

_            "They have resisted all Davan landings and missionary expeditions. They will serve as a fine example of Khi's strength."_

            I stared at the Janus amulet, turning it over and over in my palm. For want of a jewel, the Tathorians—and who knew how many others—would be spared. Breyn's Eye of Khi was specifically designed to work with the amulet; there was not another like it in the galaxy, and the stones from which it was made were no longer mined. The planet that had produced them had been destroyed by a nova. I held in my hand the death of a hundred thousand planets.

            I fastened the chain around my neck and began stripping off the flightsuit. I'd need to change my appearance fairly radically if I was to spend much more time in public, and luckily Nar Hedron was used to this sort of requirement. Pulling a flowing Amaranthine robe from my kitsack, I dressed quickly and pulled a modesty veil over my head, hiding my face and shorn white hair from view. A crysteel knife was strapped to my ankle, and I carried a dart-thrower with a six-shot magazine hidden in my sleeve, ready to shoot neurotoxins with a flick of my wrist. Examining myself in the black faceplate of the helmet, I decided it would do, and ventured out into the dusty alley. 

            Nar Hedron's main drag, lined with bars and brothels and overpriced boutiques, was as crowded and chaotic as I had hoped. I ducked into a shop and avoided the leering glance of a Friinian pimp engaged in conversation with the proprietor.

            Bottles of hair dye and cosmetics lined the back wall of the shop; flimsy transparent garments designed to fit a wide range of anatomies hung on racks by the counter. I examined what appeared to be a breast supporter equipped with five voluminous cups, and couldn't help picturing its wearer. 

            Most of the cosmetics and dyes were aimed at the thriving prostitution trade, but I managed to find a boring shade of brown haircolour and a series of cosmetic paints to hide the Khi priesthood tattoos at the corners of my eyes. The eyes themselves were going to be a problem, I considered.  Few enough human species had yellow irises; they were not easily forgotten, and I didn't have the credits for an augment job. I sighed and picked up a pair of black scleral lenses. Hopefully I wouldn't have to wear them very much.

            The total came to a ridiculously large sum, but I handed over the credits and hurried back to my rented room. Nobody paid any attention to the thin girl in a long robe scurrying through the crowds; they were all much too concerned about their own agendas. I dyed what was left of my hair a mousy brown and experimented with the skin paints, which covered the tattoos admirably and changed my complexion from almost-white to a reasonable spacetan. With that and the black lenses, I looked like any other youngish offworld trader.

            My hand crept to the amulet lying warm against my chest. I had to get it somewhere safe, had to bring it to someone who would protect it from the kind of use Breyn had planned. I lay down on the narrow bunk and stared at the ceiling, still fingering the blue stones, and tried to think of anyone at all who would be able to keep the amulet safe. I fell asleep still trying.


End file.
